Recycle, Reuse, Renew
by Red Wasabi
Summary: It wasn't about love. Wheeljack POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Recycle, Reuse, Renew

**Author:**Red Wasabi

**Disclaimer:** It's not mine, but I wish it were.

**Notes: To all who read my fics: **This one is _much_ happier than the other one I've posted as of ate! Wheeljack/Bluestreak My first Wheeljack fic **ever**! I have been hankerin' to do on with him for quite sometime too. I'd just never found a suitable plot until now. And many thnkas to l**ibra4eva,** who beta-ed me tonight, and gave me confidence to post this!

**Rated:** PG

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Wheeljack moved his large frame carefully to the side of his berth, as to not disturb the unusually peaceful re-charge of his berth-mate, Bluestreak. Wheeljack could barley make out his lover's face plates in the darkness that entombed the room. If he just modified his optics a little he could almost believe that it was--.

Wheeljack frowned deeply in the dark, he couldn't think like that. What they had together was enough for him—it had to be because what he really wanted was unattainable. His digits tenderly reached out to stroke the red chevron that adorned Bluestreak's head.

He was using him, using him as a replacement for the affection he would never get from Ratchet. He had long since given up the dream of ever sharing a berth like this with that white and red 'bot; but in his desperation he had found another just as empty as he was.

Bluestreak turned restlessly in his sleep, pushing himself deeper into Wheeljack's warm embrace. Wheeljack's arm tightened around the fitful mech, and a small smile flitted sadly across his face plates. Bluestreak was mumbling a name that wasn't his again. They were both using each other.

Wheeljack supposed that he _should_ be jealous, after all Bluestreak was _his_ lover, in _his_ berth, in _his_ workshop. He _should_ be mumbling his name unconsciously while he re-charged; but Wheeljack wasn't jealous. They had both began this relationship with the understanding that they each wanted some other bot, but couldn't have them for one reason or another.

They had each been left alone—so wanting—so needing; Wheeljack because his ideal spark-mate had rejected his advances and chosen someone else, and Bluestreak because—Hound had died and left him all alone. Wheeljack absently caressed Bluestreak's back seams as he stared blankly out into the murky darkness of his workshop.

The first time they were together had been one of the most moving experiences for him. Not because he'd found out he had some 'great' and hither unknown 'love' for Bluestreak, but because it had been the first time he had seen gray mech for more than just the talkative bot he was. He'd seen something deeper inside Bluestreak; something that had mirrored the same pain and loss he'd carried within his spark for vorns.

He'd found a connection, and as they had frantically made love to each other on that first night, each of them calling out a different mechs name, he'd found understanding—acceptance. It had been the first of many unspoken agreements between the two mechs when they first started interfacing with each other that neither would ever mention that odd quirk of theirs.

A small whimper trembled forth from Bluestreak's vocalizer, Wheeljack quickly silenced it by placing his heated lips firmly on Bluestreak's. Wheeljack's optics shut off in bliss as Bluestreak's air compressor sighed contentedly sending a tantalizing puff of heated air across his lips.

A low moan issued forth from Wheeljack's vocalizer as he curled over and nuzzled his face plates against the delicate fuel lines in Bluestreak's neck. He didn't love him, what they did with one another, it wasn't about love—it was about loneliness, and comfort. He did appreciate him though, he appreciated the way he never looked at him with pity—like so many of the other mechs before him had. He appreciated the way he never corrected him when he called him by another name, the way he seemed to cling to him when they re-charged in their berth at night. Making him feel safe, secure—and wanted.

Oh Primus how he loved being wanted. Wanted—it was like nothing else Wheeljack had ever felt. He had always been the one left wanting, but never had he been wanted—no—_needed_. For the first time in his life someone needed him. They needed him to chase away nightmares, to feel happy if only for a brief moment, to forget for a while.

Bluestreak had needed him, and Wheeljack wasn't ashamed to admit that he had grown to need the gray mech just as much. If not more sometimes. The days when he was forced to work along side of Ratchet in the med-bay, the days when he was forced to act as if he felt nothing for the passionate med-bot. When he had to pretend that the happy banter between him and his lover—Sunstreaker, didn't bother him at all. Those were the days when he came back to his barracks filled with bitterness, and hate.

Bluestreak was his only saving grace on _those_ days. Somehow the Datsun was able to make him forget about it all. All the anger and hostility he felt would melt away when he was on top of Bluestreak. Somewhere in between the anguished sobs that would wrack his frame, and his keen wails where he would cry the name Ratchet out a hundred times, he would find peace again.

"Hound!?" Wheeljack's head jerked back startled at the sound of Bluestreak's sleep-filled, panicked voice.

Wheeljack's embraced the confused mech tighter, his legs moving to intertwine themselves with Bluestreak's twitching ones.

"Shhh, it's ok Blue. I'm here." Wheeljack whispered gently in Bluestreak's audio receptors.

Bluestreak's frame trembled violently underneath Wheeljack, as he blindly groped the darkness for as much of Wheeljack as he could clutch at. "'Jack? You'll never leave me right? You'll never leave me like Hou--" Bluestreak's vocalizer choked on the name.

Wheeljack's grasp around Bluestreak's quivering frame clenched uncontrollably. Bluestreak needed him, and needed something that only Wheeljack could give him—forgiveness. In turn Bluestreak had something that no other mech had ever been able to give to Wheeljack—solace. It was an even trade.

"No Blue, I'll never leave you. Not in a thousand vorns."

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**AN:** So yeah, Did you catch that whole Ratchet/Sunstreaker thing...cause...that was just something really random that I thought of and now...I'm going to totally have to write something with them as a paring. That something might even have to me multi-chaptered...


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Recycle, Reuse, Renew

**Author**: Red Wasabi

**Disclaimer**: Not mine!

**Notes:** OK, You people finally dogged me into writing one more chapter for this story, happy now: p I am already writing the 3rd and final chapter in Hatchet Appeal and it should be up by either tonight or tomorrow, but I make no promises! Then I will start on the single chapter add-ons to the other stories that I mentioned in a previous post. This one has a slightly higher warning I think. So you have been warned.

**Rated:** T

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Bluestreak knew that sooner or later, all of this would fall apart, and he would be the one left all by himself—again. Bluestreak shuddered uncontrollably as Wheeljack's digits skillfully moved underneath his outer frame, teasing and stroking the sensitive wiring below.

Bluestreak clutched desperately at Wheeljack's backplates, trying to ignore the pleading voice above him crying out Ratchet's name. He had no right to be jealous; Wheeljack had never lied to him about the manner of their relationship with each other.

Bluestreak opened his own mouth plates and began to chant the name 'Hound' in frenzied unison with the mech above him. When they had first started seeing each other—using each other—Bluestreak had found that his former lover's name came easily to his vocalizer; but lately he'd realized that another name was going through his processors mid-interface.

Bluestreak's optics closed briefly as Wheeljack collapsed atop him panting heavily and sending hot ribbons of air tickling across his sensory grids. He wanted to cry out for Wheeljack. The pain he'd once felt over the loss of his former lover had faded, and though he still had a warm place in his spark for Hound, a new fire had started burning in him—one that blazed for the inventor in his arms.

Bluestreak cooed softly as Wheeljack began delicately stroking his face plates, and head seams. He loved this part best, after they had joined sparks, and when Wheeljack was tried out he would lay next to Bluestreak whispering all the things that Bluestreak needed to hear.

Bluestreak's back plates tensed as he heard Wheeljack murmur the name Ratchet again, slowly he forced himself to relax—to disregard the stab of anger in his spark when he heard the other mechs name. Wheeljack had always called him Ratchet, just like he had always called him Hound; those were the rules and they couldn't be changed just because he didn't like them anymore.

Bluestreak sigh deeply and pushed himself further into Wheeljack's tight embrace; if he didn't listen to him too closely he could pretend that what he was saying was just for him. And sometimes he _could_ almost believe that all the little loving gestures _were_ just for him. If he just stayed focused on the little details, he didn't have to acknowledge the big picture. Like the fact that Wheeljack didn't love him.

Bluestreak's frame trembled slightly and he almost smiled when he felt Wheeljack squeeze him in reassurance. He knew that Wheeljack thought that he replayed memories of Hound on these nights; that wasn't true though.

He'd pretend to slip into re-charge, and spend the rest of the night thinking, or committing these memories to permanent files in his thought processor. He never wanted to forget any of their moments together. Sometimes he'd spend the entire time simulating what it would be like if Wheeljack had loved him first, if he would only call out his name; and if he didn't have to always call out Hound's.

He didn't do that very often though; it made him sic to his fuel tank to think about the 'what ifs'. Most of the time he'd just lay in Wheeljack's arms hating. He would hate himself for not having the guts to tell Wheeljack that he had to choose between what he had and what he wanted; hate Hound for dying and leaving him this predicament. He'd hate Ratchet for so carelessly disregarding what he so desperately sought—Wheeljack's love. He'd never hate Wheeljack though, he could never hate him—he could only love him so much that he wished he was dead.

"Goodnight Blue," Wheeljack muttered quietly as he fell into his re-charge cycle. Bluestreak hummed appreciatively and curled deeper into the inventor's side. The rare moments when the inventor did call him by his name gave Bluestreak hope for their future. It made Bluestreak believe that sometimes—even if not all the time, the inventor saw him for who he was, and for whom Wheeljack wanted him to be. That sliver of hope was enough for Bluestreak to hold on to for at least a while longer; and maybe someday he'd become 'just' Bluestreak to his beloved inventor.

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**AN:** Short I know, but I thought I had finished it the first time 'round! What more do you wnat from me? I'll try to make the other single chapter updates longer, ok? 


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Recycle, Reuse, Renew

**Author:** Red Wasabi

**Disclaimer:** Not Mine!

**Notes:** Ok I gave it a conclusion that I hope makes everyone happy! New NOTE! Much love+Beta credit to VAwitch who helped me out with the typos and grammer problems!

**Rated: **PG-13

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Wheeljack's optics stared blankly at Prime's moving mouth plates. He couldn't possibly be saying what he thought he was saying.

"What Bluestreak did was honorable and may have saved many of his comrade's lives. We still have a team searching the wreckage..." Prime's voice continued on, unaware that his audience wasn't listening.

"Then you understand?" Optimus asked seriously. Wheeljack nodded his head automatically. No, he didn't understand. In fact he was anything _but_ understanding right now. He felt like shaking Prime by his big blue shoulder plates and yelling at him to explain it all again. Explain to him slowly, using small words as to why Bluestreak wouldn't be coming back to him again.

Wheeljack stiffly walked out of Prime's office and down the buzzing hallway. His large frame drifted unthinkingly through the crowds of jabbering 'bots. He moved smoothly through the vast congregation as if there were no one else in the hallway. As if he was alone.

The door panel to Wheeljack's workshop easily slid open, and for a moment he stood staring into the empty darkness of his room. His optics took careful note of the way Bluestreak's possessions were haphazardly intermingled with his own. Bitterly he filed the image away in his memory files. It would never look like this again.

Wheeljack walked to his workbench, and sat down with a deep sorrowful sigh. Wheeljack stared down at the blueprints for his newest mounted weapons design. For the first time since Prime had called him in to 'talk', Wheeljack slumped forward onto his blueprints and allowed himself to grieve.

Wheeljack's frame shuddered violently as great sobs wrecked through him. He'd known that this day was coming, Bluestreak was after all a warrior. He had a dangerous job, one that he did well, but dangerous none the less. It was inevitable really, that one day Wheeljack would get this news. So why did it hurt so much then?

Wheeljack's wails rose in volume as he replayed their last morning together.

_'Wheeljack's spark fluttered curiously in his casing as he gazed down at the sleepy face below him. Bluestreak's optics flickered delicately before on-lining and turning to look peacefully up at Wheeljack. _

_Wheeljack's frame panels quivered pleasantly when Bluestreak's mouth plates opened up, and small yawn eased from his air compressor. _

"_Morning Blue..." He quietly whispered in Bluestreak's audios. His optics brightened happily when Bluestreak flashed a dazzling smile up at him. He had been noticing lately how Bluestreak had taken to calling him by his name, and the strange thing was, that he didn't mind. In the beginning he would have almost certainly protested against that, it was too personal. It would have reminded him that it was Bluestreak saying his name, not Ratchet; but something had changed now. He didn't mind anymore; he had in fact started enjoying it when he heard Bluestreak's hesitant, soft vocalizer form the syllables of his name. _

"_I've got to go 'Jack. You know I have that mission with the twins today...," Bluestreak's vocalizer startled Wheeljack out of his thoughts. _

_Wheeljack nodded, and leaned down to nuzzle the side of Bluestreak's face plates. "You'll be careful today, right?" he murmured, trying not to let his worry seep into his voice._

_Bluestreak's arms tightened around the inventor in a gentle hug, "I promise I'll come back, ok?" '_

The loud sobs quieted gradually as Wheeljack leaned forward limply onto his table, not caring that he was crushing the data-pads underneath him. The room became eerily silent and only the trembling panels of Wheeljack's frame gave a clue to the internal sorrow that raged within him.

Getting close to mechs was never something that Wheeljack was good at. He'd often found himself the odd 'bot out at the end of the day. It wasn't surprising to him or anyone though. Most of the mechs who had managed to survive this long were warriors. Built to fight, and to survive. Wheeljack was one of the last few remaining scientists left over from Cybertron's golden age. He was built to think, and to discover—not to fight and kill.

A low groan skipped from Wheeljack's vocalizer, as his optics stared uncomprehendingly at a favorite art projects of Bluestreak's. He'd loved him. He hadn't meant to, but somehow, somewhere down the line he'd stopped thinking of Bluestreak as a temporary fill in for Ratchet—and he'd started to love the boisterous mech for himself.

Wheeljack rose unsteadily on his pedes and wobbled weakly towards their—_his_ berth. His digits quivered painfully as he lightly stroked the side of the berth that was—had been, Bluestreak's. Even before he had loved the gray mech, Wheeljack had long since grown to appreciated the way Bluestreak fit so perfectly into his berth. Had it been any other mech Wheeljack was sure that their frames wouldn't have molded against one another's so easily—so perfectly. If he had been a sentimental bot he might have even had said that it was almost as if he and Blue had been shaped for one another.

A little moan sounded from Wheeljack's vocalizer, as he lay down facing Bluestreak's berth side. He could almost see him there, laying next to him again, recharging in his arms. Wheeljack jumped at the sound of the door panels to his workshop opening up. Angrily he whipped around in his berth, an ugly scowl forming across his face plates as he got ready to bite the head off of the mech who was foolish enough to disturb him after what had happened to day.

Wheeljack's fuel pumps stuttered as he stared dumbly at the mech in his doorway. In a flash Wheeljack launched himself across the room, catching the slightly confused Datsun in his desperate in embrace. Frantic digits gently spanned every cracked and leaking gray panel on the wincing gray mech.

"Hey, oh hey watch that panel 'Jack, I haven't gone down to med-bay yet. Prime said I should come talk to you first." Bluestreak said brightly as he carefully removed Wheeljack's roving digits and held them in his own. "Sorry if I gave you a scare, I gave myself one to be honest. I didn't know what to think when I heard that rumbling and then suddenly _bam_! Everything came tumbling down on me. I tell you what 'Jack I sure was scared--" Bluestreak's rambling account was abruptly cut off by Wheeljack's needy lips, and quiet sobs.

Bemused, Bluestreak slowly gathered the inventor into his arms, stroking his back plates and cooing softly at him. Bluestreak held on tightly to the white mech, Wheeljack had never really ever wanted to touch him—or be touched by him like this outside of their berth at night. Bluestreak didn't understand why Wheeljack was acting like this, but he was willing to take the affection given to him, whenever and wherever Wheeljack gave it; no questions asked.

Bluestreak's optics widened as he realized that the inventor was mumbling things at him through his soft cries. "Don't you ever leave me again Bluestreak. Primus, not ever again. I love you too much." Bluestreak's spark froze when those low words sounded in his audios. For a second all of his thought processors stopped working and all he could think was, _'He loves me. He—loves—__**me**_

With amuted cry of his own Bluestreak clutched Wheeljack closer to him, ignoring the grinding pain pressing his open wounds. Pain didn't matter to him, he'd live the rest of his life-cycle in pain if it meant that he could hear those words uttered from Wheeljack's vocalizer for the rest of his existence.

"I love you to Wheeljack. Primus, I love you too." He responded squeezing Wheeljack even closer to his frame. "I'll love you forever."

**AN:** Bluestreak was caught in a collapsing building/warehouse type thing. He was presumed dead, and they were just trying to dig out his body; but we all know Blue's luck with dieing. He just doesn't, no matter what falls on him, covers him up, or infects him. I guess that's good news for 'Jack huh,


End file.
